


Wolf Hearts

by Quarra, xantissa



Series: No Wolves Allowed [20]
Category: Castlevania Lords of Shadow と 宿命の魔鏡 | Castlevania: Lords of Shadow & Mirror of Fate, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Did I mention hallucinations?, Dracula is being very patient, Feels, Fluff, Geralt is VERY stoned, Hallucinogens, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Nipple Play, Psychotropic Drugs, Smut, There are lots of those, lots of fluffy feels, tit fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 23:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30096885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarra/pseuds/Quarra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: So Geralt may haveaccidentallyinhaled someincrediblyhallucinogenic mushroom spores, and then got sent back to Dracula’s castle via magical portal so that he could stay out of trouble. It’sfine, everything isfine. Geralt is feeling great, he’s got gifts to give to his lover, and he is ready to have a wonderful evening. Nothing can derail his impending good time. Surely.This fic is the direct follow up forThe Hunt for Red Flowers, and picks up right after Geralt takes the Wolf Portal back to the castle.
Relationships: Gabriel Belmont | Dracula/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Gabriel Belmont | Dracula/Trevor Belmont | Alucard/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: No Wolves Allowed [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1195675
Comments: 17
Kudos: 92





	Wolf Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven’t read the previous fic in the series, [The Hunt for Red Flowers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29866806/chapters/73494525), this fic miiiiight not make a ton of sense. You can probably get by with just the knowledge that Geralt is tripping balls due to misadventure, and has been unleashed upon a very bemused Dracula.
> 
> Whew, again, THANK YOU to our amazing beta reader, [Dira Sudis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis). She was, like, SUPER FAST at getting this done, and we are very grateful for all of her help.

\--

Geralt staggered after the Wolf, through the portal towards Dracula’s castle.

_Home._

It had been a weird fucking day. Good, for the most part, but very weird. He and Eskel had been out doing some hunting, picking some flowers for Dracula and Alucard, and somewhere along the line, Geralt had started to feel… off.

Everything was kind of hazy. There were _so many things_ to look at. Like, _everywhere_. Even here, walking through the tunneling magical Wolf portal. The darkness around them seemed to reach out. Geralt was certain it would be trying to touch him if not for the Wolf guiding him through.

That was a good Wolf. Geralt liked him. Her?

… He’d never stopped to check the gender. It seemed kind of rude to try now. After all, the Wolf was leading him to Dracula.

Geralt could ask, though.

“Are you a boy Wolf or a girl Wolf?” he asked, trotting along at the customary distance of a few paces behind it. No matter how fast he moved, the Wolf always stayed about three steps ahead of him. That was just how the guardian worked.

That meant he definitely couldn’t catch up and check under its tail.

Which would be rude, so he wouldn’t do it.

Probably.

The Wolf just flipped an ear back at him and kept going, giving him a side eyed look that was almost worried.

“I’m fine, I’m fiiiiiiiiiine,” Geralt said, flapping a hand at it.

Given how spacy he was feeling, Geralt had to admit to himself that he was probably not fine.

Eskel had sent him away, forced him to summon the Wolf and open a portal to get to Dracula. They’d been fighting a massive plant monster, but Eskel stopped him.

He’d said it wasn’t real. Something about mushrooms. To be honest, Geralt wasn’t really paying attention. He was more worried about the _giant fucking monster_ that was snarling at Eskel’s back. But… he trusted Eskel. And Eskel had said it wasn’t real. They weren’t in danger.

Then he’d reminded Geralt that Dracula was waiting, and that he had _all these flowers_. And _hearts_! He had hearts for Dracula. And Alucard, if Dracula left any, Geralt supposed.

He might have to make a second hunting trip for Alucard. Would the hearts even be fresh by the time he got to Castlevania City?

His mind looped right back around to the hearts and the flowers, and how excited he was to give them all to Dracula.

His lover was going to be so pleased, Geralt was sure.

Fuck, but he felt woozy. Kind of stoned.

Mushrooms. Right. Eskel said something about mushrooms. They’d been walking through them all day. Geralt was sure there was something familiar about them, and now that he thought about it, it seemed likely that they were some weird kind of Psilocybe. Hadn’t Eskel mentioned that? He couldn’t remember.

That would explain things.

Except Geralt was sure he hadn’t eaten any. He’d eaten jerky, and raw wolf meat, and dried fruit, and some fresh shoots and leaves, and basically anything else that looked vaguely appealing. But no mushrooms.

He was a little hungry. Psilocybe mushrooms always made him hungry.

They must have been mutated mushrooms. That whole garden he and Eskel had been in was covered in magic, and there were clearly some crazy plants there. Like the massive one that had attacked them before Eskel shoved Geralt through the Wolf portal.

To get to Dracula.

And give him flowers.

It was _really fucking hard_ to keep his thoughts straight. And it was kind of hard to walk, too, now that he was considering things. He was covered in bags. They were tied to his belt, all around his waist, and hung off of his back.

Right as he was considering stopping to investigate what was in them, his footsteps rang on solid stone and he stumbled out into the castle portal room.

The room was large and round, with doorways lining the walls. A second story balcony wrapped around the whole room as well, showing off another level of doorways. Inlaid into the floor was a massive wolf’s head, just like the one on his portal medallion; a gift from Dracula. His key home.

Geralt was damn used to the doors and the room itself. He’d been through here often enough, after all. But the doors should be _dark_ and _shut_. Waiting to be opened. Right now, each and every one of them was open, spilling in amazing, wondering scenes from just beyond their arches.

Forests and lakes, large ballrooms and dank dungeons. Rooms of stained glass and rooms made of cave-like rock formations and chains. There were deserts too, and seas and mountains with howling winds, there were things and colors he didn’t even have a name for. Some were beautiful, some were scary, all of them were strange and _alien_.

Geralt wanted to look in every single one of them.

“Geralt.”

Oh! It was Dracula. He was standing right in the middle of the room. How long had he been standing there? Didn’t really matter, Geralt was thrilled to see him nonetheless.

“Hello, lover,” Geralt said with a grin, and wandered over.

Gods, but Dracula looked good. Just mouthwatering. That pale, lovely skin and long shadowy hair. It looked like Dracula had decided to skip his armor for the moment, too. He wore his regular leather pants, but just had on plain boots rather than his armored greaves. There was a wide belt over his middle, per usual, but instead of one decorated with a massive skull, this one had a dragon’s head on it. His hair looked soft too, barely falling over his shoulders. The shadows on his face just highlighted the sharpness of his cheeks and Geralt was so glad he brought the hearts because Dracula obviously needed to eat more. His armored red coat was nowhere in sight, instead he had a soft looking dark shirt on; the fabric billowed around his arms and tucked into his belt.

Geralt wanted to rub his face in it.

Some distant part of his brain was telling him he was dirty from being on the Path, but the vast majority of his cognitive function was traveling south to his dick. _Fuck_. Dracula was _edible_ , he looked so good.

Before Dracula could respond, Geralt had stepped into his personal space, shoving his face right into Dracula’s chest, feeling the firmness of the muscle under the soft material of the dark shirt. There was enough of it he could really rub his face in it.

“Mmmm, soft,” Geralt said happily. That shirt was very nice. Too bad it covered up all those muscles.

He clung to Dracula’s waist happily, and rubbed his cheek into that wonderfully warm body. It was kind of prickly, actually. No. Wait. _Geralt_ was kind of prickly. He’d been out on the Path, which meant he hadn’t kept up on shaving as much as he normally liked to.

“It’s nice to see you too,” Dracula said, putting his hands on Geralt’s ribs and pulling him closer. “You smell like blood and dog.”

“I sure do,” Geralt said dreamily.

Dracula’s shirt was open, just the tiniest bit. Enough that he could nudge his face in there and get his lips on that skin. Dracula’s chest wasn’t like a woman’s, not at all. He was firm, very firm, and while he certainly had some nice muscles, the swell of his chest wasn’t nearly as much of a handful as Geralt thought it could be.

He could fix that, though.

Geralt ran his hands up Dracula’s sides, pushing up on his pectorals, smushing that pretty pale skin together. Which, of course, Geralt had to give a nice lick. And then a second one.

There was a sound, like cloth tearing, but Geralt didn’t pay attention. He had better things to focus on now.

“You always taste so good,” he mumbled happily, face buried in Dracula’s chest. “Perfect.” He rubbed his chin back and forth, enjoying the way that skin felt against his lips. It was the best combination of warm and salty. Impossible to resist. “I’m so glad I brought you hearts. You deserve all of them.”

“Hearts?” Dracula asked, sounding shocked and pleased at the same time. “Whose?” Then after a moment. “Why?”

“Mmmm.” It took a minute for Dracula’s questions to filter through the sensation of that skin on Geralt’s face. He gave it another lick and then squeezed his hands a little. “Gods, I love how solid you are. So thick. Fuck.”

Truthfully, Geralt wasn’t even that horny. Well, he _was_. Dracula always made him want to fuck. But mostly he was just so pleased, so enamoured with being able to touch Dracula however he liked. It seemed like the best thing.

“Whenever you want,” Dracula said, still sounding pleased. His hands wandered up Geralt’s back, at least as much as they could between all that armor and then back, to tug at one of the bags tied to him. “What’s this?”

“Gifts,” Geralt mumbled into Dracula’s chest. “Flowers and hearts, for you.” A little bit of a frown crossed Geralt’s face and he thought about how their whole little flower adventure had started. “I’d brought you things in the past, but I wasn’t clear, I think. Eskel said you’d never been given flowers, and that’s…” He shook his head, finally prying himself away from that sinfully beautiful chest, all so he could look up into Dracula’s eyes. “That’s awful. You should have all the gifts. Eskel and I went looking for the perfect flowers to give you. We found the _best_.”

Geralt’s earnest expression turned a little smug. They’d found unbelievable flowers, the likes of which Geralt had never seen before.

Dracula framed Geralt’s face and looked at him for a long moment. Geralt blinked up at him patiently.

“I love it when your eyes get like this,” Dracula murmured, his thumbs tracing Geralt’s cheekbones. “My absolute favorite.”

Geralt leaned into Dracula’s body, resting himself fully against that impossible strength. He loved staring into those burning red eyes, loved the way power rolled off of him in snaking waves of shadow.

“Hearts for my heart,” Geralt said softly. He leaned in more, his lips nearly brushing against Dracula’s.

But where did he put those hearts?

Right as he was nearly ready to kiss Dracula, to show him just how much he wanted to taste him, Geralt suddenly _could not remember_ where he’d put that bag of hearts.

He pulled back and looked down at himself. Bags. So many bags. Eskel had really piled them on him. Gods, he looked like a walking caravan. “They’re in here somewhere…” he muttered, starting to feel around. “All I need to do is find the bloody one, it shouldn’t be that damn hard.”

He felt more than heard Dracula’s sigh.

He saw the smaller, darker bag attached to his back and turned sharply, trying to catch it. He heard the thump and the grunt when one of the other bags hit Dracula when he turned. Immediately he turned back to apologize, but his momentum carried him over, what with the five hundred bags and sacks tied to him, and he only managed to whap Dracula with another sack.

And he lost sight of the hearts bag _again_.

Geralt growled in frustration. This was ridiculous.

“I should unload,” he mused.

Wait. There it was. The heart bag!

He grabbed for it and only managed to twist himself in such a way that he ended up losing balance for a moment.

It was Dracula’s hand wrapped around his sword harness that kept him from falling. His feet didn’t quite touch the ground though. He looked back at Dracula and inexplicably, felt like a kitten being carried by a mama cat.

“Meow,” he said. Because that’s what a kitten would say.

Now that he thought about it, Dracula did look very cat-like. All flowing, feline grace. The cat ears helped too. Same color as his hair, which made sense. Geralt craned his head to see if there was a tail, too.

Dracula’s eyebrows made a bid for his hairline, but he didn’t relinquish his hold, still holding Geralt and his million bags up by the harness.

“Are you going to lick me clean?” Geralt asked, one part curious, two parts horny. That’s what cats did, after all.

“Geralt,” Dracula said seriously. “Are you high?”

“I am so goddamn high that I can’t see straight,” Geralt said just as seriously. “Eskel said there were mushrooms. Which, I mean, there were, but…”

Dracula frowned.

“You got high without me there to enjoy the sight?”

“Didn’t realize I was stoned for a while,” Geralt mused, looking around him at the open doors again. Now the scenes behind them had shifted into totally new fantastic landscapes. Again the itch to explore overtook him. “Wasn’t until Eskel tried to shove me through the portal, actually. There was this monster, and…”

Geralt had to pause as tension flowed over him. Eskel was still back there with that dessicated plant monster. But Eskel had been so certain that Geralt needed to go. He hoped everything was alright.

“Eskel made me leave. He’s there with it, but he said he’d be fine.” Geralt tried to shrug, but he was still hanging from Dracula’s grip, covered in bags, so the movement was more of a wiggle.

Then Geralt got angry suddenly. If Eskel lied to him…

“I swear to the gods, if Eskel gets himself killed I will murder him!”

The landscapes beyond the doors turned dark. Cold. Geralt frowned a little more and thought of the creature he’d left slavering behind Eskel, with its branch like claws slicing the air just inches out of range.

“Eskel is fine,” Dracula said calmly, setting Geralt down on his feet.

Relief poured through Geralt like fresh, clean water. If Dracula said Eskel was alright, then he was.

“Good. Good.” Geralt nodded. “Thank you.” He looked into Dracula’s eyes and smiled.

Then Dracula reached for the first bag tied to his belt and used his claw to cut it off from Geralt. It fell to the stone floor with a soft thump.

“Oh, the hearts!” Geralt reached down to pick it up, peeking inside with a pleased grin. There they were. Wet and warm and so fresh they were practically beating.

They might still be beating. Geralt shrugged. That was probably good for a vampire’s gift.

“For you,” he said with a grin, and handed the bag over. “Wolf hearts, fresh and personally harvested.”

Dracula stared at Geralt for a long moment, then at the bag. He looked almost shy as he pulled the string holding it closed open and looked inside. His eyes widened a little and his nostrils flared as the scent of fresh meat wafted up. Then Dracula reached into the bag and pulled out a heart. It fit into his hand nicely and Geralt nodded to himself watching as it beat against Dracula’s palm, blood pouring out to trail down his palm and slowly drip down his forearm.

“It’s beautiful,” Dracula said quietly. He tilted his head back and bit into the organ, and began to suck at it noisily. The heart caved in a little with the effort, and a small trickle of blood spilled down from Dracula’s lips. Dracula’s eyes drifted closed as he sucked the heart dry and then ate what remained in little bites, making soft, pleased sounding growls the whole time.

Pleasure filled Geralt up as he watched. It was messy, sure, but that just meant that Dracula was enjoying the gift. He couldn’t help but grin in satisfaction. This was great. He’d have to tell Eskel what a good idea this was.

“Good?” he asked, once Dracula was done.

Dracula didn’t answer in words. He reached his bloody hand to Geralt’s collar, gripped him there and pulled him into a powerful kiss that still tasted of iron. He bit and sucked at Geralt’s mouth, mercilessly fucking deep into him with his tongue.

Geralt moaned into the kiss, and leaned in, letting Dracula have his way with him. Every touch, every lick and suck, was _wonderful_. It lit up his senses like fire, and Geralt loved every second of it.

When Dracula finally let him breathe for a moment, Geralt licked his lips in appreciation.

“You taste like wolf. ‘S good,” Geralt said softly, and then he leaned in for another kiss.

Might as well chase that taste while he could. Dracula’s lips were soft and hot. He licked in and nibbled at them, getting every last trace of blood off of the skin. He’d eaten some of the raw wolf’s meat earlier, just after he and Eskel had killed them. That was rich and filling, though it wasn’t something he usually enjoyed. But tasting those same flavors on Dracula’s lips was a hundred times better. Knowing that it was a gift that Geralt gave him that Dracula deeply enjoyed elevated it to a new height.

Dracula’s hands went back to Geralt’s hips and he could feel a tug that indicated his lover was about to cut off another bag.

“Mmm,” Geralt breathed into Dracula’s mouth. “Don’t wanna crush them. Gotta give them to you when they’re pretty. Pretty like you.” He was suddenly struck by the idea of giving Dracula flowers, presenting bouquets and garlands and wreaths. Dracula would look so pretty with all of them. “Bedroom?”

Dracula pressed his forehead against Geralt’s. His hair fell forward and brushed along Geralt’s skin.

“Whatever you wish,” he murmured. Then the world fell apart around them, shattering into a million shiny pieces only to be rebuild back into the familiar shape of Dracula’s bedroom, with its huge fireplace in the shape of a snarling wolf’s head, the four poster bed capable of fitting twenty people easily, and the beautiful balcony doors with its delicate framing.

This…

This was perfect!

Geralt could spread Dracula out on the amazing bed and cover him in flowers! Just like Eskel had wanted. Maybe he didn’t say it in as many words, but Geralt and Eskel had been close friends for all their lives. Geralt damn well _knew_ what Eskel was thinking about when he said he wanted to give Dracula flowers.

He pressed Dracula towards the bed, grinning a little and happily mumbling to himself. “This was the best idea. I owe Eskel a drink. Or maybe I’ll just help him with his gathering, when he gets around to it. Yeah, that’s probably better. Especially if there are more mushrooms.”

“Mushrooms?” Dracula asked. His eyebrows were raised in curiosity even as he allowed himself to be herded until the back of his legs hit the bed.

Geralt nodded. “That’s what got us so stoned. Didn’t really recognize them. They were all mutated, but _whew_ do they pack a punch.”

He kept pressing on Dracula’s chest, hoping to push him over back onto the bed. For whatever reason, it didn’t seem important to try and force the issue. He just… leaned a little.

Dracula liked it when Geralt leaned on him anyways. It was sexy as hell that Geralt could do so.

“It’s better to get high with a friend. Witchers, we’re dangerous,” Geralt said absently.

Gods, but Dracula’s chest was pretty. He wanted to rub his face on it again. But there were flowers to spread, and Dracula was still wearing part of a torn shirt. When did it even get torn?

He blinked a little and tried to focus.

He fingered the tear. Dracula could afford more shirts, right? One shirt wouldn’t be such a problem, right? He tugged at the shirt. His chest was so pretty it was a shame to cover it. There was a small ripping sound as the tear expanded rapidly under Geralt’s tugging. Well, now the shirt was unsalvageable anyway. Geralt nudged the tear until it met the collar and then kind of accidentally tore that open.

It was just so satisfying to see the job finished. He huffed happily and pushed the halves apart, spreading his hands briefly over Dracula’s chest. Gods it was so hot, the skin so smooth and almost fragile in how untouched it was.

“This snuck up on us,” Geralt said, remembering the question, and waved at his head, as a general gesture that encompassed his whole stoned-out state. “If this is what happens when we go looking for flowers for me to give you, I can only guess what will happen when Eskel goes looking. He has the worst luck.”

Geralt gently pressed again on Dracula’s chest, hoping to see him sprawl backwards. Maybe bounce, too. That sounded very satisfying. He liked the idea of Dracula bouncing on his bed.

Dracula fell under the pressure, his dark hair fanning around him like a halo. Sadly, he did not bounce.

Geralt pouted, but only a little.

He tried crawling onto the bed with Dracula but the bags that were still attached to his belt stopped him. They caught on the edge of the bed, holding him back.

Oh! Right!

He still had flowers to give!

He reached for the first bag and tugged at the cord keeping it attached to his belt. It was no use; the knots were too tight and his fingers kept slipping off of them. He tried yanking, but that also didn’t help. Eventually he just huffed, reached down to his thigh, and pulled out his favorite hunting knife.

Now he could get the bags off of him!

He switched grips and started to saw at the first cord.

“Just make sure you don’t cut off any parts you might want to use later,” Dracula said from the bed. He’d shifted so that his hands were now under his head, pillowing it, and he was watching Geralt with smouldering red eyes.

Geralt finally got the first bag off with a pleased, “Yes!”

And then he watched the bag roll away.

It just kept rolling, off and away towards the balcony.

“Oh fuck no, I gathered you fair and square,” Geralt grumbled, and marched after it. It was just always frustratingly out of reach. He got halfway across the room before he finally just made a dive for it, tackling the bag with both arms.

When he sat up, it looked like the bag was still attached to his belt. Or rather, it had _reattached_ itself.

“You motherfucker, you _retied yourself_. Fuck, Eskel, what kind of bags did you buy?”

This time he cut at the bag a little more ruthlessly, splitting it down the side. Out poured sprays of tiny red flowers on long stems. They looked like yarrow blossoms, but larger. Each flower cluster was the size of his fist, and sported dozens of blooms, and the stems were as long as his forearm.

Perfect for braiding. He had to pause for a moment and rub the soft flowers to his face. Yarrow didn’t smell the greatest; it had a distinctive herbal tang to it. Not unpleasant, but not as sweet as some other plants. The little blooms were lovely, though, and each stem was graced with tiny, fern-like leaves that sprouted off of it.

Geralt was definitely going to braid these for Dracula. Maybe a crown. Or a stole. Something to hang on his shoulders.

He’d get on that… just as soon as he was done rubbing his face with the petals. They _tickled_. They were so soft but at the same time felt a little leathery and very green.

There was the sensation of motion, and shadows sprung up around Geralt in his peripheral vision. He was a little too occupied with the yarrow blooms to care. So much so that he hadn’t realized he’d moved until the shadows were settling him closer to the bed again.

“Oh,” Geralt said, looking up to where Dracula’s legs still hung off the bed. “Right. Flowers.”

He started cutting into the bags again.

How many were there? It seemed that whenever he cut one off he caught sight of two more. He kept twisting and turning, trying to catch them and pin them in place as he searched for the stings. The damn things kept twisting around on him.

The only logical move was to start stabbing them, pinning them to the ground. But once he had one pinned, he couldn’t use that knife anymore. It was busy keeping a bag in place. No more rolling away for these little bastards. So he pulled another knife. And another. Soon he had a little forest of knives and daggers pinning all the various bags to the floor.

Which was about when he realized that most of these bags were still attached to his belt or sword harness.

He sighed.

“Fuck it,” he grumbled, and just unbuckled the belts and harnesses rather than try to cut off the bags.

When he finally was free from both bags and belts, he looked up to see Dracula staring at him curiously from where he sat on the bed. There was a strange mix of amusement and mild concern on his face.

“You ran out of knives?”

“No?” Geralt paused and looked down at himself. “Maybe.” He patted his chest and legs for a moment, searching for more knives. “Yes. Probably. I was also stuck.”

He gave himself a more thorough look over. Gods, he was dirty.

More importantly, he had bags of flowers everywhere.

“Ooooh,” he said, feeling a little excited. What could be in all the bags? He knew what _he_ had gathered, but what did Eskel get for him?

He opened the first one and found those beautiful black irises, each one the size of both of his hands put together. The blooms were full and gently ruffled, and the color was so smooth and dark that they looked like velvet.

“Ahhhh, here we are,” he cooed softly. Geralt pulled the first one out and cupped it in both hands, letting the petals fluff out like they normally would. The scent was soft, and the flower looked as delicate as spun smoke in his hands.

He lifted the flower up to Dracula, like he was giving an offering to his god.

“For you.”

Dracula sat up enough to extend a hand and take the flower from Geralt. He stared at it for a long moment, eyes dark and unreadable before slowly, almost hesitantly raised it to his nose and took in the scent.

“It’s beautiful.”

Blissful warmth filled up Geralt’s chest and a slow happy smile spread over his face. The look of that lovely flower in Dracula’s hand, held up to his nose, was stunning. Geralt wanted to lock it away in his memory forever. All that pale skin, with Dracula’s smoldering red eyes and smoke-like hair, and that gorgeous flower acting as the perfect offset to it.

That actually made Geralt think for a moment.

Those irises really _were_ the perfect offset. And he had a whole bag of them, too!

He quickly dug back into the bag, and yes, sure enough, some of the blooms had been cut off at the base of the flower, but several had nice long stalks still attached.

Geralt grabbed a handful of those, and started weaving the stems together. Every so often, he dug around in the other bags, picking out other flowers with nice complimentary colors, or even some that just had some very nice flexible greenery, and added them too.

“What are you doing?” Dracula asked, his voice low and soft. The bloom was still cradled in the palm of his hand.

“You should have a crown,” Geralt said. He stuck his tongue out a little in concentration as he wove the stems together. This wasn’t something he did very often. He’d known how to do all manner of knots since he was a child. That was standard training for a witcher. Recently, both he and Eskel had taken a crash course in fancy braiding from the sex demons. Geralt was pretty sure that Eskel had been harboring fantasies of braiding Alucard’s hair, and Geralt couldn’t say that he objected to that idea himself.

Making a crown wasn’t that different from the fancy hairstyles that Iga and Eyra had shown them. It was damn similar the way that he braided large bundles of herbs and fruits to dry.

It didn’t take long for him to be done, and soon enough he held up a very plush flower crown. The large, black irises made up the bulk of it. Tiny purple and red flowers of various types speckled the length, and a few vibrantly dark green ivy leaves lent support to the base.

Dracula leaned closer to Geralt, sitting up with one elbow braced on his knee as he kept the first flower near his face, taking a long breath of its scent every so often.

“For me?” Dracula asked, watching Geralt with those soft eyes.

“Oh yes,” Geralt said with a nod. He peered around the crown one more time, making sure it was very sturdily built and didn’t have any sharp pokey bits that might catch on Dracula’s hair or cause him discomfort.

“Put it on me then.” Dracula bent down even closer, lowering his head for Geralt. It made him look vulnerable in a way Geralt didn't remember ever seeing before. His throat tightened and his chest seized with emotion.

He put the flower crown on Dracula carefully, making sure the flowers didn’t poke or scratch at anything sensitive.

The contrast of the colorful blooms against that silky black hair was amazing. The black irises seemed to be just made for Dracula’s pale skin. Geralt sighed in pleasure from just viewing the beautiful display.

Then he noticed something moving in the flowers. Tiny shadows curled through the braided stems and slid over the lush petals. It gave the flowers the impression of life, of animation, and the scent became even stronger than before, enough to tickle his nose.

“Come here,” Dracula murmured very softly, and pulled Geralt closer.

Geralt went easily with it. Getting closer to Dracula was one of his favorite things in the whole world. As he moved up into Dracula’s lap, he curled his hands around Dracula’s wonderfully strong shoulders. So luminous and pretty, especially with how his dark, silky hair rested there, just prickling the top of his back.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” Geralt whispered, breathing the words into Dracula’s mouth.

He pressed a soft kiss there, just a little, gentle thing. Barely a brush of lips. It felt like a message, an expression of love.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re delicate?” Geralt said quietly.

Dracula laughed.

“No.” He kissed Geralt then, slow and soft. “Never,” he said in the breath after that kiss.

“You are delicate.” Geralt gave him another soft kiss. “Look at you, so pretty. Smoke and shadows wrapped together.” He kissed along the edge of Dracula’s mouth, just light little pecks. “Gods, I want to wrap you up, touch you everywhere, and then blow you until you cry from how good it is.”

“I like this plan,” Dracula said against his lips, letting himself fall back onto the bed and tugging Geralt along with him.

Geralt followed, unwilling to lose a single second of this softness and touch. He crawled onto the bed after his lover, peppering gentle kisses along his lips, his nose, his cheeks, feeling his heart swell at the way Dracula tilted his head to let Geralt have better access.

He was showing his throat, Geralt realized. To _him_.

That brought a little groan out of him, and Geralt had to reward that with more kisses. He ran his mouth down Dracula’s jaw until he could nuzzle at his neck. Dracula’s pulse fluttered under his lips, steady and so deceptively vulnerable.

“Beautiful. Some days I think I’ll go crazy from it,” Geralt mumbled.

He gave that soft skin a lick, slowly dragging his tongue over the beating vein. It tasted like salt and skin, chased with the afterburn of Dracula’s smouldering power.

“I’m gonna lick you,” Geralt said, taking a moment to think out his plan of action. “Definitely. I want to put my mouth everywhere on you. Suck you, put my tongue inside you.” He ran his hands down Dracula’s sides. So much firm muscle, all for him to enjoy.

“Yes,” Dracula said, voice raspy. When Geralt looked up he saw that the flowers framing Dracula’s head were moving again, shifting as if powered by some internal heartbeat. In the center of each bloom, he could see an itty-bitty mouthful of tiny fangs.

“Oh.” The little noise came out of Geralt unbidden, he was just so struck by how lovely the sight was. “ _Wow_.”

“What do you want to do first?” Dracula asked, his hand going to Geralt’s hip. His fingers deftly found their way under Geralt’s shirt and left tingling trails along the skin there.

It took Geralt a moment to understand the question. Dracula was just too captivating. He rubbed up and along Dracula’s side, enjoying the feel of hot skin under his hand.

“So much. Gods.” Geralt blinked really hard and tried to focus. It took a great effort of will, but he forced himself to sit up, straddling Dracula’s hips. With quick, sure movements, he stripped off his upper armor and tossed off his shirt. It only took another moment to untie the laces on his pants, giving himself a little room. He hadn’t even realized how hard he was until the relief of his pants being looser hit him.

Dracula dragged his hand up, spreading the fingers over Geralt’s ribs, his touch hot and possessive.

“I love your chest,” Geralt said, eyeing the pale expanse of muscle under him.

It was so pretty, so distracting, that Geralt didn’t even get around to pulling his cock out of his pants. He had to get his hands on Dracula _right away_.

He smoothed his hands down Dracula’s ribs, and then back up to cup his pectorals. This put his thumbs in just the right place to rub across both nipples.

“I think I want to fuck your chest,” Geralt said, again letting the words just tumble out without much thought going into them. “Squeeze your pretty chest together and rub my dick all over it.”

“Really.” His lover sounded amused. “Go ahead then.”

Pleasure bubbled up inside of him at Dracula’s agreement, and he cast a more critical eye over what he had to work with. Geralt had titfucked some fairly unendowed people before in the past, but it took a little planning.

He was sure he was up to the task.

Dracula was all firm muscle, too. Witchers tended to have a bit more up top, something that they sometimes teased each other about when drunk. It was part of the sword play. They needed their arm and chest muscles in excellent condition, and spent a ridiculous amount of time working at them. Dracula was built more like a brawler; he was thick all around. It still nagged at Geralt, just what kind of weapon he preferred to develop this kind of build.

Geralt narrowed his eyes, and worked on teasing those pretty, little nipples. Pulling at them and twisting them around. Making sure that they were extra sensitive.

“You aren’t built like a swordsman,” Geralt said absently, still tugging and pinching. “You’re good at the sword, but it’s not what your body favors.”

He leaned down to lick across Dracula’s chest. They’d need some lubrication to make this process work, and spit would do well enough. Besides, that meant he got to lick Dracula’s chest, and that was definitely a win in Geralt’s book.

“I’m good with the sword, but it was never my favorite,” Dracula admitted, his breath hitching the tiniest bit. He arched up, giving Geralt more access.

“Oh, that’s so pretty,” Geralt groaned. “Every little sound out of you is like I won a prize.”

He couldn’t help but roll his hips down, getting a little friction while he played with Dracula’s chest. Still, he kept twisting and tugging on those nipples, making them perky and ready for anything. Perfect for sucking on.

So he did.

He pulled one into his mouth and sucked, _hard_ , playing with the little bud with his tongue the whole while. Dracula’s body was hot under him, and the scent of their arousal filled up the air, mingling with the scent of power and flowers.

Slowly, he pulled away from Dracula’s chest, still sucking hard, drawing out the release as long as possible.

“What is your preferred weapon?” he asked when switching between nipples, the question nagging at his mind.

“Whip,” Dracula said, his voice rougher than before. “Heavy battle whip that can cut through flesh even better than a sword.”

Just picturing Dracula on the battlefield was enough to make Geralt groan again in appreciation. His dick throbbed for a moment, and he pressed down into Dracula’s hip.

“Oh gods, that sounds sexy as fuck,” Geralt whispered, breathing over the wet skin of Dracula’s chest.

Dracula chuckled. His hand slid across Geralt’s back and spread over his spine possessively.

“Dangerous,” Dracula murmured. “It’s made from my blood and just a drop of it can kill a human. Imagine what a whole whip made of it can do.”

Geralt could picture it, too. Dracula, powerful and unconquered, spinning a whip of power around and snapping it to the ground. Just thinking about it made Geralt rut into Dracula’s hip again, pressing himself down into that amazing body under him.

“Fuck,” Geralt breathed out. “That probably shouldn’t be as hot as it is.”

Dracula laughed softly, dragging his claws very gently down Geralt’s back, waking up wild shivers.

“You’re like every goddamn fantasy I’ve ever had all piled into one.” Geralt nosed into Dracula’s chest, right as he pressed Dracula’s pectoral muscles together. There wasn’t a lot of give, not much flesh to fuck, but Geralt was very excited to try.

“You are so far out my expectations, I’d never even dreamed of somebody like you,” Dracula said quietly, his fingers finding their way under Geralt’s belt and inching towards his ass.

“Mmmm.” That was very nice to hear. Geralt arched up a little in pleasure, almost preening. He followed the movement up so that he was sitting upright again, this time perched on Dracula’s stomach. He finished untying his lacings and pulled out his very hard, very attention deprived cock.

Just sitting there with his dick hard and already leaking a little onto Dracula’s chest was a lovely thing.

“I want to do everything to you,” Geralt said. It felt like his eyes were burning, he was staring so hard at Dracula’s body. Taking in his beautiful face, the snapping flowers that crowned him, the long dark hair spread around like a halo on the bed. His gaze roamed down Dracula’s body to where they were pressed together. “For you.”

He leaned forward and trailed a finger down Dracula’s jaw.

“I want to make you happy,” he added softly.

“However impossible it seems, you do.”

Geralt felt like he was probably glowing with pleasure at that. His chest was full and a smile curled across his face without his input at all. He stared into Dracula’s red eyes, and hoped that some little bit of what he was feeling was apparent to him.

“I am going to give you so many pretty things,” Geralt said. “None of them are gonna be half as pretty as you, but I’ll try.” He tilted his head and furrowed his brow in thought. “Alucard is very pretty too, actually. Maybe I’ll decorate him for you, all wrapped up with a bow. Now _that’s_ a gift.”

“It really is,” Dracula agreed. His other hand was on Geralt’s hip, gently pulling him closer.

That was nice, very nice indeed. Geralt moved with him, shifting his hips forward to rub his cock right in the small valley between Dracula’s pectorals. The skin there was just a little slick from Geralt’s earlier efforts. It would be better with oil, but that would mean moving away to get oil and that simply wasn’t worth it.

He ground down into Dracula’s chest for a few thrusts, lazily rubbing back and forth, with one arm braced next to Dracula’s head to hold himself up.

“Mmm, so pretty,” Geralt muttered. “Let’s see if we can make that a little prettier…”

He shifted again, this time grabbing Dracula’s chest and pressing the flesh together in an attempt to make a nice, tight little channel for his cock to slide through. It was only partially successful really, but oh so satisfying to look at. Dracula’s body was always so damn warm, hot as fire. Just watching his cock slide in between those pretty little tits was enough to make Geralt moan and bare his teeth in satisfaction.

It was so much like fucking him, so close to it.

On every thrust forward, his cock just brushed up against Dracula’s chin. Almost kissing it.

He whined, just a little, when he felt fingers brushing the head of his cock. Dracula’s hand was there, covering him, pressing down at his cock and making the whole slide tighter, _better_.

Just as unexpectedly, Dracula then raised his fingers to his mouth, sniffing the tips delicately just before he licked them. Just small, quick flicks of his tongue that had Geralt’s heart trip all over itself at the sight.

He was licking the taste of Geralt’s cock off of his fingers.

“Oh, fuck.” Geralt had to take a slow, shuddering breath. He didn’t want to stop, though. This was too hot. It was a little bit of a rough rub, but his cock was dripping down, adding slick as he moved and filling the air with the scent of sex.

He wanted to come all over Dracula’s chest. He wanted to stop before he did so and lick up the traces of precome first. He wanted to do a dozen things, all contradictory, all scorchingly hot. It was impossible to decide.

The absolute last thing he expected was to see his lover lift up his head and extend his tongue when Geralt thrust forward again, licking briefly over the head when it came in range.

Geralt’s whole body pulsed with pleasure at that, and he strained forward, whining high in his throat. His cock twitched, pulsing hopefully as heat raced through him. When the licking didn’t continue, Geralt managed to roll his hips back and thrust forward again.

Again, right at the apex of that thrust, Dracula gave the head of Geralt’s cock a little lick. Tasting him, Geralt realized.

It was so difficult to keep moving, to keep that rhythm going. All Geralt wanted to do was shudder and twist in place, but he _had_ to keep that movement going. The sweet drag of his cock between Dracula’s pecs, held tight to that beautiful chest by Dracula’s hand, was too good. Amazing. Wonderful.

His mind lost track of everything but that touch, and each little kitten lick was enough to make desperate noises fall out of him.

“What a pretty tongue,” he muttered, again not really thinking of what he was saying. Whatever normal filter he had on his mouth seemed to have vanished.

It was a cute tongue, though. So pink and wet and just _adorable_ as it darted out to gently lap up little beads of precome off of his dick.

“You’re so gods be damned cute I could eat you,” Geralt mused.

Then he froze.

That’s right. He _was_ supposed to eat Dracula. He’d totally forgotten that this was part of the plan.

Dracula chuckled. The flowers in his flower crown snapped their teeth playfully. “You are not the one that does the eating usually.”

“I am today,” Geralt said with a nod. He shimmied down Dracula’s body, putting his face right over where Dracula’s cock strained inside his pants. He could see the firm bulge of it, pressing out under the massive belt buckle.

Gently, he trailed his fingers down the underside of that bulge, feeling the weight of Dracula’s balls, and the heat of him through his leather pants. While he was enjoying that, his other hand was busy trying to unbuckle Dracula’s belt.

It had a different latch than what Geralt was used to. Kind of a fiddly one, too. This was only made worse by how the silver dragon on the buckle hissed at him.

“Stop,” Geralt hissed back at it. “No biting.” Then he frowned, thinking that statement through. “I mean, _he’s_ allowed to bite”--Geralt pointed up to Dracula’s face--“but _you_ are not.”

The little dragon hissed at him, and Geralt just hissed right back. No belt was going to stop him from blowing Dracula. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at it.

After a moment of examination, he came to the conclusion that if he could get his fingers under the buckle, he might be able to get it off without getting his fingers nipped. It was a delicate operation, but Geralt was certain he could do it. He was a witcher.

“You are the smallest dragon I have ever seen,” Geralt muttered while searching for the clasp of the belt. The little creature hissed at him again, and lunged at his thumb.

“Are you… talking to my cock?” Dracula was now braced up on his elbows and looking down at Geralt with a baffled expression.

“Huh?” Geralt looked up at him in confusion. “What? No. I’m talking to the little dragon. Which…” He looked down just in time to see the silver beast slither off of Dracula’s belt and down into the bed sheets.

A shiver raced up Geralt’s spine as he considered rolling around in the bed and accidentally rolling on all those little silver spikes. This was just like that time a little lizard had been stuck in his bed roll, when he was on the Path down south. That had _not_ been a fun time.

Then he was struck by the thought that this tiny dragon had to be a rare creature. It would really be a shame to kill it by squashing it. Maybe he should make sure it was safe before they proceeded?

Yes, that was a good idea, he decided.

“Dracula, would you stand up a moment?” he asked. He slid off the bed, and waved for Dracula to follow him. He wasn’t really watching his lover though; his eyes were glued to the bed, searching for telltale signs of the silver dragon.

Dracula made a low, growly sound but he swung his legs off the bed. Geralt was completely distracted by his new boots and their shiny silver heels. Then Dracula was standing, leaving the rumpled bed behind.

“Oh, those are very pretty,” Geralt said, still admiring the boots. Shiny and new. He had to touch them.

He dropped to his knees right there, and dragged his hands up and down one of Dracula’s legs, feeling the hard leather of one boot.

“I’ve never had a desire to have someone step on me before, but wow, these are hot,” Geralt mused. “You have such nice clothes.”

He scooted in a little closer, and ended up hugging Dracula’s leg. That put his face oh so perfectly right up to Dracula’s groin, which was a wonderful turn of events as well. The scent there was glorious, all sweat and sex and dark, burning power. Geralt just had to get his nose in there, rub his lips along Dracula’s still covered cock. The leather of Dracula’s pants was soft against his face, and he rubbed into it, breathing in deep.

“Can you get the belt off since the dragon escaped?” he asked, tilting his head up to look at Dracula, but making sure his cheek was pressed to the hard bulge.

Dracula was looking down at him, his hair falling forward like wisps of smoke, the blue flowers in his crown tilting down to look curiously at Geralt too, their tiny, toothy mouths open.

Geralt smiled at all of them. “Please?”

Dracula opened his mouth but then clearly changed his mind before he said anything. Instead, he put his hand on Geralt’s head, claws gently scratching at his scalp and accidentally cutting through the cord keeping his hair tied back.

“How could I refuse?” The belt above Geralt’s face darkened, tiny tendrils of darkness curling over the pretty shapes until it was nothing but a writhing mass of darkness. When it dispersed, there was no belt.

It struck Geralt that the tiny dragon wouldn’t have a place to come back to now and he felt incredibly guilty about it, even if the dragon was kind of an ass.

“Oh no,” Geralt said softly, thinking through the implications. He kept rubbing his face into Dracula’s covered cock all the while, enjoying how that hot bulge felt on his cheek. So warm, and so wonderful to rub up against. The fabric was soft too, and smelled wonderful.

“Oh no?” Dracula asked, his hand warm and heavy on Geralt’s head.

Geralt tilted his head up into Dracula’s palm, not so coincidentally nuzzling into Dracula’s cock while he did that.

“The little dragon,” he explained. “Where will it live now that your belt is gone?” Then he frowned. “Also, I think it’s still in your sheets. And it likes to bite.” His frown turned into a more contemplative pursing of the lips. “Although, given how I was trying to get rid of your belt, maybe it was trying to bite me for a good reason.”

Geralt had to pause again, and think for a minute.

“Am I hallucinating again?” he asked. He knew that he’d inhaled some mushroom spores. It was difficult to keep track of, though, not with how beautiful Dracula was and how hard and ready his cock was.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t have a dragon in my bed.”

Geralt shot a worried look up to Dracula’s face. “Pretty sure? But not totally certain?”

He looked back to the bed and tilted his head, trying to figure out where one might fit under all those silk sheets and furs.

“I’m certain,” Dracula corrected himself, still petting Geralt’s head.

“Ah.” Geralt nodded. If Dracula was sure, than it must just be the drugs. “So, the teeth in the flowers on your crown, also hallucinations?”

“Teeth?” Dracula took his hand off of Geralt’s head and reached for the flower crown. Geralt gave a little moue of distress as he watched Dracula take it off and bring the flowers closer to his sightline. The petals moved again, shifting and tilting towards Dracula’s fingers, rubbing like eager cats.

“Hm.” Dracula turned the flower crown this way and that. “No, the teeth are real,” he said eventually, putting the flower crown back on his head. The irises spread out their petals in an aggressive manner, posturing in a threatening manner towards anyone looking.

“Ah. Well. That’s… good to know.” Geralt bit his lip and hugged Dracula’s leg. “Do you think they had teeth when I picked them?”

He cast a worried glance towards the remaining bags of flowers on the floor. They shifted a little, popping up in place as if they were filled with mice and not plants.

Dracula suddenly looked sad, his hand going back to Geralt’s head and stroking his hair gently.

“No, they were very pretty, but ordinary flowers,” he said softly. “The teeth are my fault. I wanted them to last, so my power changed them to make them more durable. My power is a harsh one,” Dracula murmured. “Now your pretty and delicate flowers have teeth.”

Geralt gave out a little sigh of relief. “They are still beautiful. I’m just glad I didn’t leave Eskel in a garden filled with flowers that might eat him. He’ll probably want to stay and pick more, if only for potions.” Then he shrugged a little. “I’m glad the flowers will last, and I’m glad you like them enough to want them to.”

He leaned into Dracula’s leg, relishing the ability to do so. It wasn’t just that Dracula was standing there next to him. It was that Geralt knew that Dracula had the strength to be leaned on, in more ways than one.

The leather he was snuggled up against was so soft. Almost like suede. He loved that this was Dracula’s preference for pants. They were so nice to rub into.

It suddenly dawned on him that he was on his knees with his face right in Dracula’s groin. This was perfect for a blowjob, and if anyone deserved a good lick and suck, it was Dracula.

Geralt started working at the laces of Dracula’s pants. Normally he would try untying them with his teeth, but that seemed like too complicated an operation given how fuzzy his head felt.

“Hrmmm.” Geralt grumbled while he worked on the knot. It was a tricky little bugger, and he almost wanted to try his teeth on it anyways. “Too bad I don’t have claws, too. No laces would be safe.”

Dracula laughed softly, curling his hand behind Geralt’s head.

“I don’t think they are safe from you now.”

Geralt grinned and kept working on the knot. “Geralt of Rivia, White Wolf, Gwynbleidd, Butcher of Blaviken, Destroyer of Laces. Nice ring to it. Seems historically accurate, too.”

“Very,” Dracula agreed. “Whether you use your fingers, your teeth or a knife, you are always very efficient.”

Finally the damn thing came undone and Geralt was able to pull the laces apart.

“Witchers do like to be efficient,” he said happily.

There was the prize he was after. That thick, gorgeous cock that was now barely held in by Dracula’s pants. With careful hands, Geralt worked it out of its leather prison, pulling Dracula’s pants down to the tops of his thighs.

Dracula’s cock was mouthwatering. Thick and heavy, the wide flared head just begged to be licked and sucked. It was already flushed a pretty dark pink, and Geralt wasted no time putting his mouth on it.

He didn’t even bother putting his hand around the length of it; he just leaned in and sucked the head into his mouth with a soft _pop_. It tasted fantastic. Salty, hot, and with just a hint of bitter precome at the tip. He licked at the end, not even trying to take more of that length into his mouth just yet. Geralt wanted to savor this treat.

So he sucked as if he were eating hard candy, and gently bobbed his head so that only the glans went in and out of his mouth. There was the sweetest, softest little wet sound every time the flared edge of the head popped out of his lips, and he eagerly sucked it back in, tonguing around the underside and the foreskin. He licked and pressed his lips tight, giving Dracula a tight hole to work in and out of. The taste of precome grew stronger, and oh how Geralt liked that.

He liked it so much that he couldn’t wait to see just how much liquid he was nursing out of Dracula’s cock. So when he pulled back, he let Dracula’s dick fall out of his mouth entirely, eagerly watching to see if there would be a little trail of spit and slick coming off of his lips.

There didn’t seem to be, so Geralt tried again. He sucked the head of Dracula’s cock back into his mouth, swirled his tongue around the glans, and the let it pop back out again.

“Geralt,” Dracula said tightly, his hand on the back of Geralt’s head pulling him back towards the abandoned cock.

Geralt let Dracula push him forward, opening his mouth and plunging in, taking all of Dracula’s length in one solid go. His nose brushed right up against the skin of Dracula’s groin, and his throat clenched around the length of the cock inside of him, trying to swallow. He held there, not even breathing, just letting his tongue lave the underside of Dracula’s dick. The scent of sex and spit filled him up, and Geralt’s whole body tensed up as he struggled to keep the full length of Dracula’s cock sheathed inside of him. It was so large, so _big_. Geralt was well practiced and eager, but even he had difficulty handling so much.

He struggled to open his mouth just a little wider, and slide his tongue out, down towards Dracula’s balls. It wouldn’t reach, he knew that, but the effort might feel good for Dracula and that was all that mattered. Tears prickled at his eyes and he could feel his face heating up with the lack of breath.

Just for the extra sensation of it, Geralt pressed his nose in harder, shoving Dracula’s cock in as deep as it possible could go. Gods, but the thing was already so far inside of him that Geralt could feel it stretch him open. If Dracula put his hand on Geralt’s neck, he’d probably feel it there, too.

As slow as he could manage, Geralt slid back, letting Dracula’s cock inch out of his mouth. He kept up that suction as he moved, and worked his tongue around the shaft as he pulled away. It really was like sucking on candy. Thick, hot, sexy candy.

He pulled back until just the glans were in his mouth again, and gave them another hard suck, swallowing every last bit of precome that he’d earned for his efforts.

Then he pulled away entirely, watching with pleasure as Dracula’s cock fell out of his mouth.

Geralt knelt there, gasping quietly for breath, half grinning at his good deed. He had one hand on Dracula’s hip, bracing himself up as he caught his breath.

“Definitely glad to eat you,” Geralt said, voice rough and low. He licked his lips over and over, partially to get every bit of taste off of them, but also just out of reflex. His chin was wet from drool, though he hadn’t noticed it earlier.

“You are very good at this,” Dracula said roughly, the rasp of his voice extremely pronounced. He shifted his hand, stretching his thumb to touch Geralt’s lips, tracing the slightly swollen line of them. “Very good.”

“I do love… pleas… ing……. you…” Geralt trailed off as something caught his eye.

He tilted his head and _looked_. There was something moving behind Dracula, and he could just see it between his legs. It was slithering around, moving just under the edge of the sheets spilling off of the bed.

Oh, holy fuck, it was his swords and they were _slithering away_.

“Oh fuck no,” Geralt said, cursing up a storm inside his head.

He dove down, squeezing in between Dracula’s legs, and shimmying through. There was no gods-be-damned way in hell he was letting his swords sneak off. He _needed_ them. That was non-fucking-negotiable.

Quick as could be, he ripped up the sheets and squeezed down under the bed. There wasn’t much room down here, and it had suddenly occurred to Geralt that he’d never bothered to even look before right now.

It was dark, really fucking dark, and just off in the distance he could see the faint glimmer of his blades. Somehow they’d worked their way out of their sheaths and harness. Those little bastards were slithering off together, like a damn couple eloping.

While he wasn’t really expecting to ever need to chase after his swords, Geralt knew that it was imperative that he did. Blades should _behave_.

What he expected even less was a screech and huge thump and suddenly the bed he was under was… gone. He looked up, making sure to keep a firm grip on his unruly swords, and realized Dracula had _flipped the bed off of him_. He could see it, laying messy and tilted against the far wall, the sheets and blankets spilling everywhere.

“Oh,” Geralt said quietly, feeling a little stunned.

The bed moaned next to the wall, as if bitching about the rough handling.

“It’s a good thing there isn’t a dragon in your bed,” Geralt said with raised eyebrows. “It would be squished right now.”

“Be glad I didn’t decide to pull you out by your ankles.” Dracula pointed towards Geralt’s naked cock, swinging freely from his open pants.

Geralt looked down and winced, imaging himself dragged along the floor.

“Yes. Thank you.” Geralt nodded, feeling very grateful.

Dracula graciously nodded in return. After a pause, he asked, “What were you doing there?”

“My swords were trying to elope together,” Geralt said, holding the blades up. They were back in their harness again, _as they fucking should be_ , but he still glared at them. “If they’d made it out the door, who even knows how long it would take to track them down?”

“I don’t know,” Dracula said dryly. “I think the offspring could be interesting.”

“Oh shit, you’re right.” Now Geralt was actually cursing his hasty dive. “Alucard could have just used his little birds to find their nest. I wonder if the runes would pass on. Would they birth daggers?”

He stared at the blades in his hand, and then gave them a hug. “I love you both anyways, no matter what your offspring looks like, or how useful it is.”

The swords sounded a little happier at that, and settled into their sheaths more solidly. He patted them soothingly, the same way he’d pat Roach’s neck while feeding her or brushing her mane.

Dracula crouched down and Geralt noticed that his pants were done up again. Dammit. There went all his hard work!

“You are really stoned, aren’t you?” Dracula reached out a hand to Geralt, palm open, and waited. It took Geralt a moment to realize Dracula wanted him to take his hand. The gesture was so sweet Geralt felt a prickling in his eyes. Dracula wanted him to take his hand!

Geralt slipped his hand into Dracula’s, and smiled.

“I am very high,” Geralt said with a nod. “Psilocybe mushrooms are pretty potent all by themselves, but these were mutated. Normally, you have to eat them to get the effects. These had spores, and Eskel and I were walking through them all day.”

“I think we need to wash you off,” Dracula said, still patiently waiting for Geralt to focus. “Because I think you are getting dosed over and over.”

Geralt looked down at his sword harness and his pants. Then he tilted his head to try and look at his hair. He was a little dirty. And, yes, it seemed likely that his clothes and hair were covered in the spores.

“They were as thick as clouds in the air…” He frowned and gave his hair a sniff. Smelled like hair. And ashes. And mushrooms. And maybe flowers.

He blinked and shook his head a little.

“Wow, that is potent stuff.” Geralt could feel his eyes unfocus. Which was wild, since normally he had very good control over such things. “Washing is probably a smart idea.”

“I love your eyes right now,” Dracula said with a small smile. “Your pupils are very round and liquid,” he murmured. “They look so soft.”

Geralt smiled happily, and leaned towards him.

“I’m going to take you to the baths now.” Dracula pulled Geralt closer.

Geralt walked on his knees until he was all but pressed against Dracula, his nose full of his lover’s scent. Dracula’s chest was still bare and his skin smelled of Geralt from when he’d rubbed his dick all over those lovely muscles.

He leaned in and nudged his nose into Dracula’s neck.

“Yes,” Geralt agreed, not really thinking through his words. It didn’t matter what Dracula was asking of him, he wanted to give him everything.

Dracula knelt fully and wrapped one arm around him. His free hand went to the back of Geralt’s head and pulled him closer, so that they were touching foreheads, seemingly unaware of the pair of swords now squished between their bodies. His eyes were a smoldering, burning red, and Geralt loved looking into them.

“Try not to panic,” Dracula said slowly, the darkness raising up slowly around them.

“Yes,” Geralt breathed out, and relaxed further into Dracula’s arms. He was safe. He would always be safe with Dracula around.

The darkness curled up around them, gaining speed and power as it swirled, tearing out pieces or reality, destroying the room around them until nothing but the heavy darkness was left. His senses went haywire. Sound and smell disappeared until there was nothing except Dracula.

When the darkness fell away, he was nearly overwhelmed by sensory input. The air around them was moist and thick with the scents of minerals, soaps, and herbs. He registered the heat next, like a blanket on his skin, making him suddenly realise how much time passed since he’d last had a proper bath.

Not only that, but it suddenly hit him that he’d been in at least three fights that day. There was the spider-like monster in the basement of that abandoned water mill, the Echinops, and then the pack of wolves after that. Granted, the wolves were hardly a challenge, but they did end up butchering and skinning them. No doubt he still smelled of blood and plant-monster guts. Probably smoke, too, from the fire in the mill.

“Yes, bath is a good idea,” Geralt muttered, still distracted by how pretty Dracula’s eyes were. The red in his irises was a living thing, sparking and swirling in on itself. It reminded him of some mix between a lava flow and a sparking campfire. “We killed a lot of things today.”

“I like killing things,” Dracula said. “Tell me about them?”

Geralt perked up a little, and smiled. “Sure.” He pressed a soft kiss to Dracula’s mouth.

That was just so nice that he had to do it again. He leaned in more, letting Dracula take his weight. His eyes fluttered as he licked his lips, and gave Dracula a third tiny kiss. There was the faint sensation that his swords were being pulled out from between them and placed somewhere to the side, but Geralt was far too interested in Dracula’s lips to really pay much attention to that.

“What if they run away again?” Geralt couldn’t help but worry. For now the swords looked like they wanted to behave, but who knew what would happen next? Young love, and all that.

Dracula looked from him to the swords with a speculating expression on his face.

“I’ll take care of it,” Dracula said, and extended his hand towards the swords. Shadows boiled out from the stone floor, twisting and turning until they achieved a shape of a big, slender hound all built from darkness with the edges of its shape smoking, as if it was a mere moment from turning back to mist. Its eyes were red and they glowed like the fires of hell. The other most visible part of his body was a set of huge, blindingly white fangs poking out of its otherwise featureless black maw.

It looked up at Dracula, even as it kept its body hunched down to the ground in a show of submission. After a small, hollow yip of acknowledgement, it trotted to the swords, sniffed them, and then laid down on top of the weapons.

“Nice.” Geralt nodded, both pleased and impressed. He had to wonder if the swords would still try to nest with the demonic hound right on top of them. Clearly, they wouldn’t be able to sneak away, but that might not stop them from mating. What exactly that would look like, Geralt wasn’t sure. Nor was he certain that the demon dog would stop it. Maybe they’d feel too shy? It was hard to tell with swords. “Doggy chaperone. Thank you.” He smiled at Dracula, feeling that warm happiness sink over him once more.

It took a moment for him to remember that they were talking about something.

“Oh, right. Killing.” Geralt shook his head a tiny bit and blinked. “Eskel and I killed a bunch of stuff today.”

He trailed one hand through Dracula’s hair and sighed with pleasure. It was so soft.

“Got up early.” Geralt shrugged. That was normal, when out on the Path. “Rode up to check out some leads on the garden. Came across a mill. Picked some herbs.” He paused a moment. “Actually, I think that’s where I might have first gotten dosed with the spores. Eskel said something about not eating them, but, well, _obviously_.” Geralt rolled his eyes. “He worries like a mother hen.”

Dracula tugged him up and set Geralt onto his feet while he thought back on Eskel acting like a mini-Vesemir. Really, Geralt wasn’t some greenhorn in need of minding!

“Is that where you got the flowers?” Dracula asked as he pulled at the lacings of Geralt’s lower armor. A few things gave with an audible rip.

“Hmm?” Geralt was having a difficult time keeping track of the story, especially with how Dracula was actually ripping his pants off of him.

Well. Perhaps _ripping_ was too strong a word, given how gentle Dracula was being. So careful and measured. Fuck, it was sexy as hell. Geralt’s cock twitched hopefully as he watched Dracula run his hands down Geralt’s legs, freeing him from all the additional knife harnesses and boot lacings.

“Right, the flowers,” Geralt said, finally tracking what Dracula’s question was. “No, it took us a while to get to those. There was a spider thing in the mill. Some kind of arachas, I think. Maybe about the size of a horse.”

Then he remembered just how they killed it.

Or rather, Geralt remembered how he very nearly accidentally immolated them with his Igni sign, killing the monster and blowing up the building around them at the same time.

… The less said about that, the better.

“We, uh. Killed it with fire,” Geralt said, staring off towards a wall. He wasn’t really seeing anything in particular. He was just sort of reliving the abject embarrassment of the whole scene. He _knew_ that his Igni had become overcharged since his bonding with Dracula, and he _knew_ that sometimes caves or underground areas had exploding gas. He just… hadn’t been thinking about it right then.

Eskel had promised not to say anything to anyone about it, in exchange for Geralt running interference between Eskel and Lambert and Vesemir once it became common knowledge that Eskel and Dracula were in a sexual relationship.

That in and of itself was unusual. Eskel was a private man, yes, but very little truly ruffled him. The fact that he was worried like this was… odd. Then again, this was the first time Eskel had really risked himself in a relationship. He was bound to be nervous about it.

Geralt blinked, and hurried on to the next part of the story, before Dracula could ask him more questions about the fire.

“After that, we headed up to look for a body, the local blacksmith’s dead brother. Years old, but there might still have been something left. We found what we were looking for, and the Echinops that killed him. That thing was huge.”

When Geralt looked down again, Dracula had divested him of his boots and was cutting off his pants. With his _claws_.

“Fuck,” Geralt whispered, once again completely distracted.

“Tell me about the flowers,” Dracula said, letting his claws touch the skin and scratching it gently from his knees down to his ankles and them all the way up his thighs, veering out to tease at the hips.

A shiver raced up Geralt’s body and he let out a soft little, “Oh.”

The flowers. Right. He should talk about the flowers. Not sit there and think about Dracula kneeling next to him, wearing the most lovely flower crown ever, carefully running his claws down Geralt’s legs.

Yup.

Flowers.

Geralt stared some more, and had a quiet internal struggle about whether or not he should stand there and enjoy the sensations or try to flatten Dracula down onto the tile and ride him like an unbroken stallion.

Dracula laughed out suddenly, tossing his head back. The flowers on his crown opened out, petals spreading and the toothy mouth opening in silent laughter.

“Like an unbroken stallion?” Dracula said after he swallowed the last of his laughter. His hands were curled around Geralt’s knees.

Geralt’s eyes widened so much he felt like they were going to fall out of his eyes. Maybe he’d been thinking out loud again.

“B…” he stuttered. “A broken-in stallion?” he managed at the second try.

Dracula laughed again, getting to his feet. Apparently, he just had to make sure that his whole body rubbed up all along Geralt’s. All those powerful muscles and hot skin, so smooth and scarless brushing against his legs, his cock, making Geralt remember how he’d fucked that amazing chest just minutes before. He gasped, clinging to his lover’s shoulders as they finally stood evenly together.

“No,” Dracula said, that raspy thread of laughter still in his voice. “Not yet.”

Dracula’s hands locked in firmly on Geralt’s hips. The tips of the claws just barely pressed into the delicate skin there, and then Geralt was being heaved up into the air.

Damn, but it made his stomach flutter, the way Dracula could just pick him up like he was nothing more than a slip of a man, a toy to be manhandled. He remembered that time in Alucard’s tower, when Dracula had been dressed in his pretty clothes and Geralt was so very naked, so vulnerable, nothing but a plaything for Dracula in that moment.

The shock of hot water touching his feet pulled him out of the wonderful memory with a gasp. Then he gasped again at how good it felt against his skin, first at his ankles, then his thighs and higher.

“We should have brought more flowers,” Geralt said absently, watching how the flowers in the crown wrapped up tightly, becoming not much more than tightly closed buds again.

The water rushed up. Or rather, they were falling down into it.

It closed over their bodies as Dracula submerged them both and twisted them in place. Geralt couldn’t tell which way was up; all he knew was that they were wrapped in the hot mineral water, enveloped in each other. Their legs tangled together. Geralt kicked out on reflex as he tried to get some control over which way they were swimming. His efforts were totally derailed by the way that their hard cocks slid perfectly together as they moved. Dracula’s muscles bunched as he kicked out as well, pushing them through the water. The act of swimming together was a full body caress, between the two of them and with the water flowing all around.

Geralt blinked, trying to see him through the murky water, but he only caught the vaguest of shapes. There was the pale oval of Dracula’s face and the dark cloud of his hair, with a hint of glowing red for the eyes. Geralt kissed blindly, catching Dracula’s cheek then nose. On the third try, he finally scored a hit on Dracula’s lips. They kissed slow and soft, bubbles of air escaping them until Geralt’s lungs burned and he had to get them up into the air again.

He tugged on Dracula’s shoulder, and nudged up with his chin, trying to express that breathing was a thing that he’d need to do soon. He didn’t want to break the kiss, though. It was too good, too sweet. Dracula was hot against him, warmer than the water, and firm and strong as they held each other close.

Dracula listened and immediately changed direction. Soon, they were breaking through the water, with richly smelling air rushing to meet them. Geralt was still wrapped up around Dracula. His legs wrapped around Dracula’s thighs, and his arms were firmly around those powerful shoulders. He relished how soft and slick Dracula’s skin was in every, wonderful place that they touched.

After a quick gasping breath, Geralt was back to kissing again. This time, he was careful to keep the kisses broken up; he really did need to breathe. He inched one hand up to twine in Dracula’s hair, and the other he used as leverage to pull them closer together. Or keep them close. Geralt was a little foggy on details. It didn’t matter. Dracula’s mouth was the best thing, second only to how their cocks rubbed up to each other.

“Taste so good,” Geralt mumbled in between breaths and kisses. “I should taste you everywhere. Touch you.”

He felt like he was repeating himself. That was fine. This sentiment deserved to be repeated.

The water felt absolutely fantastic, and Geralt was suddenly reminded that he likely needed a good scrubbing. With that came a slow, sleepy relaxation as the heat from the baths soaked into his bones, reminding him that it had already been a rather long day.

He loosened his hold on Dracula and let the kisses slow down.

Dracula reached out and pulled over a small tray that was floating on the water. Geralt was long used to seeing these things in the castle baths. He’d never seen them anywhere else. Probably because he’d never seen bathing areas this lavish anywhere else, though the hot springs in Skellige were somewhat similar, if more wild.

On the tray there were little square wash cloths and a small variety of soaps and bottles. A quick sniff was enough to tell Geralt that they were all scents that he or Dracula prefered. Floral smells, mostly, with a couple of sharp citrus scents mixed in. Dracula favored the florals, and that was what he chose now.

“Ahhh, the flowers,” Geralt said with a nod, suddenly remembering that he was telling a story. “After the Echinops, Eskel and I went looking up towards the mage’s manor. Eskel had a map that he’d picked up on another hunt. On our way there, we heard some stuff that made us think that it was probably abandoned; no one had seen or heard from the resident mage in years. We were attacked by wolves on the way, which is where we got your hearts. My idea,” Geralt said, preening a little. “Eskel grabbed some furs, too, but they’re back with the horses.”

The story was coming easier to him now, and the details fit smoothly into place as he talked.

Dracula was running a soapy hand over Geralt’s shoulders, up to his neck and then down to his back. The touch felt amazing. The sweet perfume from frothy bubbles filled Geralt’s nose. He leaned in to every touch, shifting in place to get the most amount of sensation possible out of every pass of Dracula’s hand.

“We found the mage’s manor pretty quickly after that,” Geralt continued. “The whole thing was overgrown, with flowers and with those mushrooms. The front garden…” He had to pause and shake his head.

The memory of that place was stunning. Beyond beautiful. Geralt didn’t know that he had the words to properly describe it. He also didn’t know if he had even really seen it, or if it was just more hallucination. By that time he had to be completely stoned out of his mind.

“It was amazing,” he said finally. “The mage specialized in growth manipulation, and whatever systems he had set up to encourage size and hardiness were still in place. We found most of the flowers in the front area, then took a look inside the manor. Found some amazing books, though it looked like the more visible valuables had already been looted.”

Geralt thought that through for a moment. The mayor of the village was a wealthy kind of man. The blacksmith was certain that it was from wise business deals, but a sudden influx of pillaged valuables probably would have gone a long way too. It seemed like the man was doing good with his new found wealth, too, helping the village as a whole.

He wondered if Eskel would end up back in the village. They had a contract to fulfill after all, to return the flask they’d found on the body they were looking for. They’d buried the bones, too, as part of the arrangement. In return, the blacksmith had offered free repairs for them. Hopefully, Eskel would at least get something for their trouble, even if Geralt was already long gone.

Suddenly, he realized he was feeling tired, his muscles heavy and languid in the hot bath. He wrapped his arms around Dracula’s shoulders again and let himself just float with his lover as an anchor. His head lolled onto Dracula’s shoulder and he hummed happily, content to feel the hands on him and arms around him.

After a few minutes he shook his head a little and tried to rouse himself.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to drift off.”

“I think you are coming down.” Dracula kept one arm around Geralt. The second was holding Geralt’s head to his shoulder, and the third was washing Geralt’s back gently while the fourth…

Geralt stopped and blinked at the pale skin in front of him, then started counting again. One on his back. One around his waist. One on the back of his neck, one in his ankle, and now that he looked for it there was also a gentle touch of a soapy washcloth on the back of his thigh. That rounded the amount of hands to _five_.

“Do you have five hands?” Geralt asked, scrunching up his face in confusion. “Or is that the mushrooms?”

“Not mushrooms. I might be cheating a little,” Dracula said with an edge of laughter and turned to ghost his lips over Geralt’s cheek.

Geralt grinned and turned his cheek into Dracula’s mouth. “Then yes, probably coming down.”

He closed his eyes and took stock of himself, noting the tiredness and the minor aches left over from a busy day. Fortunately, he didn’t notice any injuries. Either he’d already healed from whatever he’d acquired, or he’d managed to escape unscathed.

Dracula was so warm and firm, so wonderful in Geralt’s arms. It was impossible not to close his eyes again and snuggle in a little closer.

“You can sleep,” Dracula said quietly into his skin. “I can keep you safe.”

A small smile tugged at Geralt’s lips and he pressed a kiss to Dracula’s jaw.

“Thank you,” he grumbled softly. “I’d stay up, if I could…”

Already sleep was dragging at him, and if Dracula made a reply, he didn’t hear it.

\---

Geralt woke up with a headache. He knew he had a headache before he even opened his eyes; the aching pain right between his eyes was enough to make him wince. The bed was soft though, and comfortable. Familiar scents surrounded him, adding into a sense of safety.

He was at the castle. In Dracula’s bed, if the scents and sensations were right. Silk sheets and plush furs rubbed against his skin, warm and smelling of Dracula’s burning power. After a little more wiggling, he figured out that he was naked. No surprise there. Being naked was Geralt’s preferred mode of dress while in Dracula’s bed.

Words didn’t quite work yet, the best he could manage was a groan. He rubbed his eyes and winced again at the throbbing in his sinuses. Happily, the room was dimly lit, so he could manage looking around with a minimum of squinting.

As far as he could see, Dracula wasn’t in the room.

Geralt sat up slowly and rubbed his face.

He was naked and on the first look, there was no sign of his clothes or his pack. There was nothing but the silken sheets, the usual furs, and soft blankets.

He straightened up. The headache spiked briefly at the change of position as he looked around the bedroom. There was no sign of his gear or his clothes. Nor any of the bags of flowers he’d brought with him.

Weird.

Geralt was certain that there had been flowers. Granted, he knew that he was hallucinating when he got here, but Dracula had confirmed that there were flowers. And hearts.

He squinted as he tried to think around the ache in his head. After a minute or two, he grabbed one of the sheets and slowly slid off the bed. It was tempting to just walk off naked to find Dracula, but the castle was a strange place. He couldn’t be sure exactly what, or who, he might run into. A sheet wrapped around his waist probably wouldn’t hurt.

It was a very soft sheet. Maybe he’d just wrap it up around his shoulders too. Like a blanket.

After he was nicely covered and at least as comfortable as he could be while still upright, Geralt staggered over towards the bedroom door.

“Castle,” he said. His voice sounded like it was filtered through broken glass. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Castle, please take me to Dracula.”

Ugh, he needed something to drink. A nice, tall glass of water. He could get that after he found Dracula and kissed the hell out of him.

No one else, except the other Wolf witchers, had ever really been willing to put up with him while drugged out or drunk. Not unless he paid them. He’d spent more than one night out of his mind with a group of friendly hookers, and he knew from unfortunate experience that he didn’t always make the best choices when he was like that. The only reason the Wolf witchers put up with it was because they were usually all getting drunk or high together. It was a fun bonding activity among friends.

It was safe to say that Geralt was more than a little embarrassed by his actions in front of Dracula. He knew he had a tendency to be a bit of an idiot while stoned or drunk, but it didn’t make him feel much better to know that this was just business as usual.

Before he could dwell too much on it, the door in front of him opened, showing a room he’d never been in before.

It had the same vaulted ceilings as all the rooms in the castle did, but it was also smaller and much more private. Instead of an echoing, cavernous space, this room seemed almost intimate. There were bookshelves lining every wall. Among the books there were messily arranged scrolls and the occasional paper shoved willy-nilly into various nooks and corners. There were also knick knacks everywhere, some placed on little stone daises, or under glass covers.

Geralt didn’t pause to investigate the details; better to get a good look at the whole room.

There were tables scattered over the place without much planning or reason, some made of lighter wood, some of wood so dark it looked black. Those, too, were messy, with various items piled on top of them. There was a huge window on the wall directly opposite the entrance. In it was a beautifully stained glass showing a scene of lushly green landscape with white sparkling mountains in the distance and stunning azure sky. Geralt was briefly lost in the majestic play of colors cast by the light filtered through the stained glass.

Under that window was a massive desk, as cluttered as the other tables in the room. Dracula was seated there, with his back to the window and his form bent over something in front of him.

The item in the middle of that desk caught Geralt’s attention before he could even look closer at whatever Dracula was doing.

Sitting smack dab in the middle of the massive desktop was a silver tray that sat on tiny, raised silver legs, and covered with a shimmering glass dome. Inside the glass, arranged in a neat little pile, were the rest of the wolf hearts, beating as if still alive, and exposed like the most treasured of artworks.

He looked beyond the tray, to where Dracula sat in a plush looking chair. On second glance, Dracula was inspecting the flower crown that Geralt vaguely remembered making. He was holding a hand above the crown with his fingers spread out. His wrist had been ripped open and was oozing with thick, deep red fluid. The blood trickled down his spread fingers; the flowers in the crown were crowding under them to suck the drops from his fingers.

The sight struck a chord in Geralt, and a strange mix of love and awe filled him up.

Dracula liked his gifts, liked them so much that he’d displayed the hearts rather than eating them all, and here he was feeding the flower crown. Maybe it said something about Geralt’s life that he didn’t even blink at how the plush irises had turned into what looked like a minor demonic entity, but right in this moment he couldn’t bring himself to care about that. The warm happiness inside of him was too great.

_Dracula liked his gifts._

The thought chased itself around in Geralt’s head for a minute as he adjusted the sheet around him.

From the way Dracula was seated behind the desk, all Geralt could see of his clothes was the shirt. It was a dark, charcoal grey, and the cut was unusual. It was a simple thing that clung to Dracula’s body, with just some lacing left undone at the neck. Unusual for him, but it didn’t look poorly fitted. For some reason, it reminded Geralt of Alucard.

“Looks like you made a friend,” Geralt said with a small smile, and gestured at the crown. The little mouths worked open and closed, reminding him of baby animals anxious for their next meal. It was bizarrely cute.

Dracula pulled his hand up and licked the blood from it. A swipe of his tongue closed the open wound, without even a mark left behind.

“I like it,” Dracula said easily and then picked the crown up. The flowers tilted towards his fingers, nosing hopefully at him as he put it back on his head.

Geralt’s smile widened and warmth bubbled up in his chest. For whatever reason, the sight of Dracula wearing the crown that Geralt had made was enough to make his eyes sting.

“I’m curious what it’ll grow into,” Dracula said musingly.

“I’m really glad you like it,” Geralt said, his voice low and rough.

He gathered up the sheet around him and made his way over to where Dracula was seated. There was enough fabric around him that the walk was a little awkward, but it wasn’t bad enough to give him real trouble. Besides, this was hardly the first time he’d ever walked around in a bedsheet.

“I kept the other gifts too,” Dracula said, turning to point towards a large glass vase tucked into a corner. It shimmered with that same kind of magic as the cover over the hearts and it was filled with floating petals and flowerheads of all shapes and colors. They looked as fresh as he remembered them in the garden.

Geralt’s heart swelled again and he clutched the red sheet closer. He stepped carefully around the desk and walked up to where Dracula sat, relaxed in his plush chair.

For a moment, Geralt was struck with indecision. He felt full to bursting with love. Dracula kept his gifts, treasured them even. He’d preserved them here, likely for all time. More than that, here he was, still wearing the flowers that Geralt had given him. He’d allowed himself to be adorned with something so frivolous, so counter to his normal look. He’d watched Geralt with such care while he was stoned and hallucinating.

Geralt tried to turn his smile into something a little seductive, but he was just too happy for it. He let the sheet slip down his shoulder, and knelt down to rest his head on Dracula’s leg.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

Dracula’s hand was warm and large against the back of his head, just resting there softly.

“Once upon a time, I would have called what I feel for you love, too. I’m changed, though, and that feeling has changed for me. But if I am still capable of a feeling as pure as yours, then it is yours because you are the person that showed me I can still feel care and gentleness,” Dracula was speaking slowly, meditatively. “I’m not sure I ever showed Alucard the gentleness he deserves, not even a pale shadow of it, until you stumbled into our lives.”

Happy tears filled up Geralt’s eyes and he had to blink them away. The sensation wasn’t at all pleasant in combination with the hangover headache, but he couldn’t care in the least. This happiness was worth it.

He pressed closer to Dracula’s leg and wrapped an arm around the calf.

“You’ve given me so much happiness,” Geralt said softly. His voice was harsh in the quiet, though now he couldn’t tell if it was from the after effects of the mushrooms or from the tears. “I’m glad I can give you even a little bit of that back.”

“It is such a strange thing to say to someone like me,” Dracula said slowly. “Come here.”

Geralt looked up at him, at the pale face, the red eyes, and the way the flower crown was tilting its flowers down to face Geralt. Dracula’s hand slid to the back of Geralt’s neck, pulling him gently up. He followed the movement as sweetly as he knew how, stretching out on his knees, letting his impromptu toga slip open even more. Following that pull he climbed onto Dracula’s lap, straddling him. Dracula’s hand on his thigh helped him settle as close as possible.

Dracula’s hand slid up his leg, under the sheet, waking tiny goosebumps in the wake of its touch. His nimble fingers found the tiny marks of the new scars that Geralt had acquired on the Path and hadn’t fully healed yet. Then Dracula followed the line of Geralt’s thigh muscle until he reached his hip and closed there, softly wrapping around the jut of the bone.

“Kiss me,” Dracula said, never taking his eyes from Geralt.

Geralt melted forward, pressing his lips against Dracula’s mouth in a soft, sweet little kiss. He opened his mouth just a little bit, letting a tiny bit of wetness paint his lips, and kissed down Dracula’s jaw. Each little peck was a love note, a soft sign of affection rather than just a physical pleasure. A smile curled across his face as he worked, and Geralt couldn’t help but lay a gentle kiss on Dracula’s nose, feeling the shape of the bone with his lips, too. Then he started on the other side of Dracula’s face, leaving another trail of kisses there.

His nose was full of Dracula’s unique scent, the burning power and inexplicable sense of overwhelming safety. This man might be a Chaos Lord, but he was the best thing that ever happened to Geralt.

The smoothness of Dracula’s shirt under his skin teased at him, as did the softness of his well worn pants, and the brief cold touch of the belt buckle on his stomach.

Dracula was touching him. There seemed to be no direct goal. He simply explored Geralt’s body with slow glides of hand against his back, against his thighs. He paused to cup a joint here, and a swell of muscle there. It made Geralt feel close, made him feel cherished and praised more than any words ever could.

Geralt kissed along Dracula’s jaw, all the way up to the hinge.

“Would you like to drink from me?” he asked, whispering the words right into Dracula’s ear. “I could feed you, nourish you. Let you feel how much I love you.”

“I never drank for nourishment,” Dracula said slowly. “It was always to kill or to read Alucard. It… it’s a new thing to me, to feel… _loved_.” His hand squeezed gently at Geralt’s neck.

“Drink, then.” Geralt tilted his jaw up a little more, leaving himself more open to Dracula’s mouth.

Dracula pushed Geralt’s hair away from his skin, gently, strand by strand, not hurrying t at all. He then dragged his thumb over the exposed tendon, his claw oh so gently running over the artery.

He leaned in, pressing his nose into Geralt’s skin.

“I love your scent,” Dracula whispered. “It’s so alive and so electric. The light and shadow at such a perfect balance. It’s heady.”

Geralt shifted in place, almost but not quite shivering at the feel of Dracula’s breath on his neck. He’d never thought he would ever feel so comfortable with teeth on his skin, but he did. This was his favorite place in the world to be, safely wrapped up in Dracula’s arms. Even though the sheet had fallen to puddle around his legs, Geralt felt warm as could be. The ache in his head was a distant thing now; the feel of Dracula’s hands and mouth on him dominated his senses.

He wanted to show Dracula how much he loved him, and the thought of feeding him, giving Dracula life, was incredibly appealing, too. Geralt was strong. He was fierce. He’d lived for twice, maybe three times the years that many humans would. This feeling of sharing, of _giving_ , was one of the sweetest things he’d ever experienced. He’d heard the saying that love was a gift, but he’d never felt it to be so true as he did right in this moment.

He pressed forward, molding his body to Dracula’s, and threaded one hand up through Dracula’s hair. There was no need to rush, though. No pressing, urgent business. Geralt was happy to let Dracula savor the experience, just as Geralt savored it. His heart felt so full that it was nearly bursting.

Geralt could feel the drag of fangs against his skin, once, twice, three times, before the sharp points stopped and punched through the taut skin.

The bite was so smooth that the pain was barely there. Geralt could only just feel the brief sting, and then the way Dracula’s fangs pushed deeper into his neck. The sensation filled him up as pleasure pressed into him, slowly, achingly, until all he was aware of were the teeth inside of him and Dracula’s mouth on him.

All the breath left him in a slow, whispered moan, and he felt both tense and boneless in Dracula’s arms. The very first suck on the bite raced across Geralt’s nerves. It was like pure bliss had been thrust inside of him, scraping along the inside of his skin, lighting him up, and leaving him trembling with want. He was hyperaware of the blood leaving him, of Dracula swallowing it down. With every draw on him, the powerful sensation inside of him pulsed, as if the pleasure were a living thing that Dracula was shoving in and out of him, making it all the sweeter for its movement. Heat burned over his skin and the scent of his own blood mingled with the aroma of Dracula’s power.

More tiny little moans escaped him as Dracula drank. As he _fed_. Geralt couldn’t keep them in, and didn’t even want to try.

He was hard, and he could feel the softness of Dracula’s shirt against his cock coming and going in waves. It made him realize, distantly, that he was rocking against Dracula in time with every swallow. He felt like he was made of pure heat. His hands weakly grasped at Dracula’s powerful shoulders, only to slide off the smooth material of his shirt.

He couldn’t even tell how loud he was or the kind of noises he was making. Dracula kept him close, kept his head still throughout. With every suck, the ecstasy spiralled higher, blotting away everything from Geralt's mind but what he felt in this moment, the rapture and the overwhelming sensation of closeness.

It was so impossibly good, and Geralt never wanted it to end. He arched and squirmed, unable to stop himself from pressing against Dracula’s hold on him. Still, the pleasure continued as Dracula swallowed him down.

Sooner than Geralt wanted, he felt his limbs grow heavy and his head seemed lighter than it should be. Whether it was from the sensations still filling him up or from blood loss, Geralt wasn’t sure. He didn’t care in the slightest. He trusted Dracula to stop before any real damage was done, and he was incandescent with the knowledge that Dracula had let himself go enough to drink for this long. Besides, witchers could take a ridiculous amount of damage, and blood loss was a thing that their bodies had adapted to as a matter of survival. So Geralt was content to ride out the experience for as long as possible, to share his love and satisfaction for however long Dracula would accept it.

When those teeth finally pulled out of Geralt’s neck, he was resting limp in Dracula’s arms, with every part of his body thrumming and pulsing in time with his heart. His cock was so hard, and his lips were dry from panting, but he didn’t have the strength to do more than keep breathing. His vision swam, and he blinked, trying to bring his eyes to focus.

“Stay with me,” Dracula murmured, voice raspy and soft.

“Yes,” Geralt whispered. “Always.”

He wanted to rub up against Dracula so badly, to give himself a little relief from the need that had built up during the feeding, but he couldn’t quite manage it. Everything felt deliciously good, and he was nearly floating with it.

Then there was a hand, big and calloused, closing over his cock and he whined, high and needy. His body seemed almost unwilling to listen to him, barely capable of more than clinging to his lover. Then Dracula started stroking him, long, luxurious strokes that sent fireworks behind Geralt’s lids.

With every stroke, Dracula licked at the bite on Geralt’s neck, sending aftershocks of that pleasure through his body in tandem with the bliss of the hand on his cock. Geralt felt like he couldn’t move, couldn’t coordinate anything, but still his hips jerked and his body twitched. He felt like his body was flying apart. His heart pounded in his ears and an aching, all encompassing _want_ filled him up.

He was so close already, so ready to let go. Pressure built up inside of him and he nearly screamed when it finally crested.

Dracula’s burningly hot hand stroked him through his orgasm and come spilled between them. Everything was wet and good as euphoria hammered through him. Geralt couldn’t think, he couldn’t see, couldn’t do anything but take it, gasping and nearly crying from how good it was.

Finally, it ended, and Geralt went utterly limp in Dracula’s arms. He was still gasping from the exertion, and sweat trickled down the small of his back. His whole body throbbed, and he basked in the sensation.

Dracula lifted his hand, the one he used to bring Geralt off, and licked carefully at his fingers, tasting Geralt. The sight alone made Geralt’s body jolt, made him groan.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked weakly, muscles still trembling from pleasure and blood loss.

“Only a little.”

A small, breathy chuckle worked its way out of Geralt, and he grinned. With one shaking hand he trailed his fingers down Dracula’s jaw. Fuck, but just watching Dracula suck the fluid off of his fingers was a treat.

“That was good,” Geralt said softly.

“I’m glad,” Dracula said quietly, settling Geralt closer with an easy heave. “I want you happy.”

“I am so happy.” Geralt curled in closer, smiling the whole time.

The room spun a little. That was fine. Geralt didn’t really feel like trying to focus on anything beyond Dracula in his arms. He let his eyes flutter nearly closed as he breathed in the scents all around him. Power and sex and blood. Those things shouldn’t have been relaxing, they shouldn’t have set him at ease, but they did.

“I’m very glad you liked your gifts,” Geralt said, still keeping his voice low. A little flush of embarrassment raced through him as he thought about all the hallucinations that went with his gift delivery. “And I’m sorry I was so, er… stoned.”

He had very clear memories of almost getting to do some really interesting things with Dracula, and then promptly getting distracted by completely nonsensical bullshit.

“That was an interesting experience,” Dracula said with a little laugh.

“Ha, gods.” Geralt shook his head. “Yeah, it was that. Kind of crazy, but it had its moments, I suppose. I don’t really think things through when I’m high like that.”

He paused and thought about how he’d babbled to Dracula about every little fantasy he had the moment it had entered his head. In the normal course of events, he might have never suggested fucking Dracula’s chest.

It was pretty great, though. Geralt couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction at the memory.

Then he realized some of what else had been said.

“Wait.” Geralt tensed a bit, his eyes flung wide. “Wait, you said I could stick my tongue in you. And _I didn’t_.” Abject horror filled him from head to toes. “No. Oh gods _no_. I missed it. I could have eaten you out and like a fucking stoned out idiot, _I missed it_.”

This was terrible. Absolutely fucking terrible.

“You did seem uninterested in the idea after voicing it,” Dracula said innocently.

“Noooooo,” Geralt moaned and shoved his head into Dracula’s shoulder. “Oh gods, I am the stupidest person alive. I’ve only been dreaming of getting inside of you for a year and half.”

He wanted to bang his head against a wall.

Then he realized what he just said, and he froze again. “I mean. Not if you don’t want. That’s fine. I’m happy how we have things now. You’re good. Really, really good. And I wouldn’t ever press you…”

He was babbling. He realized this. He also had no idea how to stop this utter disaster of words. It was like he just kept digging himself deeper.

“Consider the missed opportunity your punishment for not following through,” Dracula said, a small, playful smile tugging at his mouth.

Geralt groaned quietly, but some of the tension left him. Some. If Dracula was teasing him about it, then he couldn’t be upset, right?

That was about when he realized how frustrating the whole event must have felt from Dracula’s side of things, what with all the touching and teasing and no actual fucking going on.

He winced.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, feeling thoroughly chagrined. “I appreciate you putting up with my, err, lack of focus.”

“Mmm,” Dracula rumbled low in his chest. “You were pretty distractible.”

That was very true. Geralt nodded and sighed. “It’s not so bad when I’m just drunk, although there is an alarming tendency to agree with incredibly stupid plans,” he added in a quiet grumble. “But getting actually high enough to hallucinate makes my brain scatter.” He shrugged, feeling a little self deprecating. “Every witcher tries them. Hallucinogens, I mean. Hell, we make our own. Even use them in a fair number of potions.”

Used them for potions, yes, but some witchers used the hallucinogens for other things too. Lambert mixed them in with his mind-melting alcoholic cocktails. Most witchers made a mild hallucinogen called White Gull and used it for potion bases. There was a more potent version, Black Gull. That stuff… that was a less commonly used item.

Sometimes the Path was difficult, and a witcher needed a little time out of his head. That was a dangerous thing, though, using their potions like that. Geralt had never felt the urge to do so -- not more than the one time that they’d all tried it, just to see what it was like -- but he’d tried more than enough things in his life to be well aware of how he was affected by all kinds of drugs.

“Psilocybe mushrooms always make it hard for me to focus. It’s the weird shit I end up seeing.” Geralt smirked, and shifted closer to Dracula.

His limbs still felt weak and his head a little floaty, but Dracula was warm and wonderful pressed up against him.

“You were adorable,” Dracula said. His hands slid to Geralt’s waist and then up his back, tracing the lines of his muscles along the way. “The eyes were a really nice bonus.”

Geralt nearly purred at the petting. “The eyes?” he asked quietly, feeling distracted again. He couldn’t blame anything but his own pleasure at Dracula’s hands on him, though. The way they were pressed up together was very nice, indeed, with Geralt naked on Dracula’s lap, and Dracula still fully dressed. The sheet had long since dropped to Dracula’s lap, leaving Geralt covered only by Dracula's hands.

“Yes,” Dracula said with that happy rumble he sometimes got when he was talking about something extremely pleasing. “You pupils get very round, very dilated, with just a little bit of yellow visible around them. They are so liquid and adorable. You looked like a very happy kitty.”

Geralt snorted with amusement, and then dissolved into quiet snickers.

“A happy kitty, huh?” he said, smiling up at Dracula.

Then he remembered how when he first entered the portal room in the castle, Dracula had picked him up like a kitten. The neatly pointed cat ears that had crowned Dracula’s head must have been a hallucination, but thinking about it all in the context of his own happy kitty eyes made Geralt laugh.

After a moment, he sobered.

“You said that the missed opportunity is my punishment. But. Will there be other opportunities?” Geralt asked, feeling a little shy. Maybe hopeful, too. He would really spend the rest of forever kicking himself if this was the only time Dracula might be willing to try bottoming.

“Mmm,” Dracula kept petting him. “Eventually, yes.”

A wave of relief flooding through Geralt. He’d screwed up, but at least the fuck up wasn’t a permanent one. The last little bit of tension in him fled and he sagged against Dracula’s body.

“Thank gods,” he muttered.

While he still felt a little annoyed with himself, exhaustion was dragging back through him now that he wasn’t actively mentally kicking himself. His neck throbbed pleasantly where he’d been bitten, and the intensity of his orgasm had wrung him right out. There was still a touch of lightheadedness, too. Enough that Geralt was happy to let his eyes drift closed rather than try to focus on the room around him.

“My things,” he asked drowsily, eyelids slowly falling closer.

“I had them taken for thorough cleaning.” Dracula pressed Geralt’s head to his shoulder, leaving his hand on the back of Geralt’s head. “It wouldn’t do for you to get high in the middle of a hunt, after all.”

Geralt nodded a little, and snuggled in as Dracula directed him. This was nice. Very nice indeed.

“Thank you,” he muttered, feeling ridiculously pleased that Dracula was making sure that he’d be ready for the Path again.

A quick, fleeting thought raced through his head about Eskel, and how he and his gear was likely covered in spores too, but Geralt dismissed it fairly quickly. Dracula said Eskel was fine, and witchers all knew how to get their gear decontaminated from any number of unpleasant substances. That was just part of the job.

Damn, but he really would need to do something nice for Eskel to thank him for help with this whole thing.

He was so warm, nestled against Dracula. So comfortable and so tired. The last lingering bit of a headache had nearly disappeared, and his head felt even better with his eyes closed.

“Mmmm.” Geralt nosed into Dracula’s neck and laid a soft kiss there. “Might fall asleep.” He was tired enough that the words barely came out. “Y’r really warm.”

“You should sleep some more.” The words were said so softly they were mostly just a vibration traveling through his chest and into Geralt. “Rest, before you go back to work.”

Geralt mumbled some kind of agreement and shifted, settling himself in place. Already he felt himself drifting off. He wanted to say how much he loved spending time here with Dracula, wanted to talk more, to share more quiet moments. But sleep had managed to sneak up on him. He could feel it pulling at him, dragging all thoughts out and away.

The last thing he heard before completely passing out was, very softly, “The chest thing was nice.”

The End.


End file.
